


The Cuckoo in the Robins' Nest

by Dathan



Category: DCU
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Gangbang, Group Sex, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Orgy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24957388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dathan/pseuds/Dathan
Summary: The Justice League has, for a long time, celebrated averting crises and apocalypses. While finding the evenings have grown too debauched for his taste, he none the less will make it a night the league will remember. Busy with his duty as Batman, the caped crusader leaves the job in the hands of his capable robins. While the group of them plan to hold an erotic night under Bruce's nose, none of them expected to be betrayed by their brother and be made the entertainment for the men of the Justice League.
Relationships: Billy Batson/Clark Kent, Damian Wayne/Various, Dick Grayson/Various, Jason Todd/Various, Tim Drake/Various
Comments: 46
Kudos: 42





	1. Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work being posted, the first chapter alone is the longest piece of fanfiction I've written. Not going to investigate what occupies my attention that much. Please offer critiques where you see fit and feel free to comment. This was inspired by a prompt on dreamwidth blog: dckinkmeme.
> 
> The first and second chapters don't much or anything. The third will be super concentrated.
> 
> Comment for any pairing you'd like to see in the work

Unlike the Watchtower or zeta beam system, the victory celebrations were not Bruce's idea. He understood it. After averting a cataclysm on the scale, when the league pulls their full numbers, it made sense to celebrate. After one or two feasts held on Themyscira, Superman was generous enough to pull a few favors and hosted a fish fry and then a barbeque. By then, the raffle had been established.

League members placed their names and were treated by a new experience after every near-miss with the apocalypse. Bruce has been less enthused with each iteration. Each party planned to be greater and more extravagant than the last, Zatanna answered Superboy's Hawaiian surf contest with a trio of Las Vegas shows. Superman upped the ante with an artic skiing holiday. Apart from the north pole's new peak, most of the festivities could be considered harmless, but Bruce grew worried about those that sought a shortcut to beating out the rest. The last two tried to beat out the rest with pure debauchery. Oliver Queen hosted a last-minute blowout in the Star City Hilton. Followed by the green lanterns, with $120 combined to their name, brought drugs from out of space never before snorted by human means. 

The Batman has taken to precluding himself from the festivities. He gets more enjoyment from a lovely evening with his sons in the den, maybe start on his Nabokov collection. A bit different from the last few times, with Alfred in London until the end of the month. Duke and Stephanie will be on that class trip touring Italy then as well. But no matter he could still enjoy a lovely evening with his sons. Apart from Dick, of course.

No, Dick would be with the Titans at the function. While not technically a single clique, according to the raffle, they always showed up with their respective groups and tended to team up together for any games. Dick made sure to attend every party, especially ones Bruce preferred he wouldn't. At least he knew what was going on. He could do without the almost crazed relish Nightwing would take in recounting the debauchery, however. 

Perhaps Bruce has been too eager with his condemnation; they are just about to draw the next host. Maybe someone reasonable will get selected, and not pass out on quaaludes partway.

"And here we are." Superman set down what seemed to be a sizeable golden brazier in the meeting room. "We've cataloged all the artifacts in Ares' stash, apart from this."

It had been a Wonder Women apocalypse. A scheme by the war god to bring Mount Olympus to civil war by stealing important relics from Zeus. The Bat considered the giant rock to be of little importance, its significance as an infant dietary substitute notwithstanding, but the sky god definitely battered the batwing with as many storms and as much turbulence as he could until Bruce had hauled it back to Delphi. 

"Didn't big daddy Zeus say he'd throw a fit until he got back all his junk?" Leave it to Hal Jordan to state the obvious.

Diana's response was far more civil. "While yes, Hal, he did assert as much. When I presented this to mighty Zeus, he seemed less than eager to receive it. He even refused to refer to it, other than 'it.' The other gods as well failed to elaborate on its exact purpose. Ultimately, he provided it as a gift for our service." 

"So, did we do all that work to stop the world from coming to an end, just to get a chamber pot?" Like anyone gained anything from the failed alien invasion when he called on the league, last March.

"We've received lab results for the residue remaining in the vessel," Dr. Sandsmark piqued up from behind Wonder Women. Through chemical analysis, we were able to determine it to be traditional mead consistent with the period that we carbon-dated the soot underneath. If I were to describe it this early, I would assume it would serve in warming the beer to add flavorings, such as spices, honey—"

" _Sweet_ , I can't wait to break out this cold boy when we're getting it cranked this weekend."

"Perhaps you should be more careful with the potentially magical basin, that you thought was a chamber pot not twenty seconds ago."

The Lantern glared in return. "Careful Spooky, your gonna start tasting stick with how far it's jammed up your ass. Not like I'm gonna drink from it 'til I get the doc's O.K. first."

Batman moves his gaze to the classical archeologist.

Nervously she responds, "...Um, uh. Th-there's no inscription or i-icon to suggest any magical means to-to i-it-t-t."

"If it makes you feel better, Batman, I will be taking Helena to Themyscira to look into our libraries, maybe we'll find its exact purpose there." Diana stepped between the Gotham vigilante and the terrified scholar in one definitive stride.

"Y-you will?" The doctor stared doe-eyed at wonder woman, entirely forgetting Bruce.

Diana smiled and cupped her cheek, "Of course, it is my way to reward you for all the assistance you have given us." She turned to address the rest, "I will away for the month, Donna will help Cassie with Gateway City after she finishes transporting the remaining relics."

Well, since everything had been cared for... Batman turned to take his leave, to return to Gotham, and deal with the aftermath of the torrential storms. The Upper West Side flooded during the storm, and there have been reported sightings of Killer Croc prowling the submerged streets. Which of his marinas did he leave the Bat-ship in again…?

"Hold on there, Brucie! We have to finish the last thing on the list!" Before he could leave, he heard the telltale jingle. A cheap, polyester, Santa hat, with a tiny tin bell nestled in acrylic fur, found in the street on the apocalypse before Christmas, holds the raffle. Porcelain marbles have long replaced the torn pieces of paper, a gift from Ted Kord. Oliver offered it with an outstretched arm and a grin. He stared back.

"Come on," he prodded. "You've never had to pick, and if I pick Barry's idea of a good time again, I'll probably be found behind a Central City bowling ally with a mercy arrow in my neck."

Note, investigate Green Arrow's apparent alcoholism, but better to appease him in office political niceties like these, on with the rest of tonight's work by just reaching in… oh, dear. Superman offers a small smile equal parts amused and sorry. The hand on his shoulder did little against the rambunctious laughter from the league's least mature members. Bruce glared in his hand at the little yellow ball with a small traitorous bat.

Hal Jordan was the first to stop and try to breathe. Unfortunately, he was trying to speak.

"Really? Really? Spooky's gonna try to put on something? What, do I need to bring my own mortician?" he guffawed.

"Bruce can throw a party," said Clark.

"Sure, Brucie can, but this is the genuine article. He doesn't have a fun bone in his body."

"Not like I don't appreciate the dunking on my fellow bourgeois, but I have to say that our dear Brucie has a unique and special ability when it comes to parties…" Green arrow admonished. 

"See Hal, Bru—"

"…to pay people to think its fun!"

That started another round of laughter. It's been a long day; he'd let them have this if he was a good man. Today, however, they overstepped. He hasn't spent nearly thirty years making himself an idiot in his public life, just for some bastards to say that he did not genuinely Gotham high society at the drop of a hat. If he is taking the entire situation uncharacteristically personal due to the jibs sounding a tad too similar to his children's pestering, well, who could blame him?

"Care to bet on it?" he said, slamming his hand on the brazier's rim. His hand posed right between Green Lanterns' legs. "Because I'm quite sure that a monkey in a hat could entertain you. So I bet that with a flick of my wrist, I could floor you with something that blows all the past parties out of the water," he said and leaned in, right into Lantern's scowling face. With that, he was finished. He'd make good on his threats and show Hal Jordan his place Just to be sure. He lifted the golden brazier as effortless as he could make it seem and stormed out. Now it was time for a party.

Despite his big talk at the Watchtower, Batman had very little conviction for something as frivolous as a party. How could he? Gotham was a decaying metropolis on life support, in need of constant attention. With every charity the Wayne Foundation invested in, the city council found a new housing project or health clinic to defund. With how little money Arkham has been receiving these days, it is a surprise any nails are remaining. Who could blame him, when Killer Croc had to be fished from the sewage flooding the fashion district and Bane peddled a new variety of Venom to the masses? As soon as everything was taken care of, there was only a week left before the prospective party. To say that the manor was… ill-prepared to host would be a severe understatement. With Alfred still in England, the estate could not possibly host a function the scale befitting the Wayne name. Not that the building had fallen to either disrepair or clutter, Alfred made sure to contract the services to cover his leave. However, Alfred always made the preparations for the galas, and Bruce didn't know how to make reservations with catering services. So, he's here, pacing in front of four of his children. The fire is roaring in his fireplace. The heat seems to broil him in his turtleneck as he tries to find a way to entertain nearly thirty people in a way that could not be traced back to the estate by either workers or visitors.

"Father."

He can't rent a place in the city, trying to hide a convention center full of meta-humans without alerting the media. Secondly, they're occupied. Gotham municipal election night is being held the same as the party. While any other time, any hotel would beg on hand and knee for the briefest glance of Bruce Wayne's consideration, tonight is a different matter. 

"Bruce."

Tonight, Gotham hosts potential celebrations in every ballroom. From campaigns, political lobbies, think tanks, firms, to the gangs and criminals looking to corrupt whichever candidate they were backing. While in public, Brucie simply didn't have the constitution for something so complicated as politics.

"Old man."

He had cultivated that for _years_. He walked in, fuming with cash, and they would roll right over to secure such a wealthy donor for their cause, while he quietly deposited twice as much in a small progressive alderman. He has been flipping the board for nearly a decade. And eventually Gotham— 

"Bruce!"

He spun his head to Dick. His sons were patiently seated with the fire flickering behind. Each of them appeared more bored than the last.

He coughed into his hand. He didn't think they would assemble so quickly.

"Given the severity and scope of the recent disasters, the Justice League has decided to hold a celebration…"

"Oh, fuck, yes!" Jason exclaimed. 

"God, I hope Wonder Woman gets it again this year."

"What not Green Arrow?"

"You think Bruce is going to let me, a teenager, go to a party hosted by Green Arrow?" Tim replied.

"Well, he's not stopping me this year," Jason boasted. "I missed last year's space drugs, replacement. Never again."

"What do you think they would bring this year?" Dick asked.

"Well, if they're looking to outdo themselves this year, they'll get wise and finally take us the great big brothel in the sky."

"You've told us you don't remember an afterlife already, if not in your own words, then in Camus'."

"One, you know I'm not on the suicidal rinky-dink. Two, you know I'm talking about the giant-ass space-brothel the Lanterns gotta be hittin' up when they're out there," Jason defended. "I'm talkin' 'bout big alien puss', and you can quote me."

"I will be hosting this year's celebration." Oh, God, make it stop. He remembers getting his little boy HGH shots to help him recover from his malnutrition. He was so tiny back then. While he had a mouth then as well, but he was too young to be speaking of such things. His declaration sobered up all talk of brothels and the like. Each of them stared right through him with a distinct sense of disappointment he feels is undeserved. 

"Well," Jason declared glumly. "So much for this year's 'celebration'."

"Hey," Tim admonished. "There's always next year."

"I do not know why any of you are complaining about. Fater will surely bring a sense of class and refinement to these normally crass and base affairs. Not that any of you pretenders will show much appreciation for such things." Finished with his belittling, Damian crossed his legs in his stately leather chair, sipping chocolate milk from a sherry glass. Bruce has spent months trying to rid Damian of the social programming and deadly feudal attitude the League of Shadows had raised him in. While he is grateful his son no longer carries a sword at his side, the personality of a deadly warrior prince has been replaced with something. It is something he considers equally, if not more, severe and obnoxious than an assassin: the demeanor of a snarky, east-coast, prep-school, elite. Downing the remainder of his 1971 Dom Perignon, Bruce shook his head, where did this boy get it. He was never so cloistered at that age. Look at him, using a _poco grande_ instead of a flute for his champagne; God forbid if Alfred could see him now.

"Batbrat," Jason, on the other hand, never took much from refinement. "I've _been_ to the ritz and glamor that B puts out, and let me tell you, none of that is gonna cut it for something like this. The only good thing is watching the old man chase models in the fountain, but I doubt we'd be so fortunate with Bruce havin' a big to-do for people that knows he's just sippin' on apple juice. I should bring my mortician he'd be the life of any party B puts on for his little league friends."

"Little wing, let Bruce tell us what he's got planned before you judge," Dick said, turning to face him expectantly. 

"Hm-hm, I assured the league that we would not only put on something befitting the standards of the past get-togethers but exceed their expectations all together," Bruce said.

"Mm-hm, how exactly do you expect to do that?" Jason crossed his arms.

He coughed into his hands, unexpectantly nervous. "Well, I was hoping that we would come together to discuss putting on this get-together. This has been a busy week, so we have little time to prepare, any idea which we can manage at the end of the week is a floatable option."

"Really, B. You're gonna listen to _all_ our ideas?"

"Jason, stop being so judge-y," Dick admonished. He was thankful that his first son was keeping this discussion floating and not arguing with him.

"Yes. Now, Dick. Shoot."

His compliant son brought his hands forward to demonstrate. "Now get this: sex party."

"No, shoot," Bruce ignored, passing over to Tim, disregarding Dick's exasperated: _Fine, swiggers!_

"Hey, you skipped me!" Jason interjected.

"You seemed fixated on the hypothetical space brothel, earlier."

"First, I know in my gut, its real, and they're holdin' out on us. Secondly, that's not what I was gonna say."

"Fine, what _were_ you going to suggest we do."

"Drugs."

"No, Damian."

"I say we have an evening that shows all the rift-raft in the league the grace and elegance becoming of our good breeding."

_In other words_ , Bruce thought to himself, _the boring night everyone is expecting._ In the distance, the great shadow of a bat bloomed in the sky.

"Everyone, I can deal with that. You all stay here to workshop this and come up with something for Saturday." With that, he pivoted and had marched halfway to the cave by the time anyone responded. With the Robins alone to themselves, they sat together with a pregnant pause.

"I didn't get to say mine," Tim said forlornly. 

"No one wanted to listen, Drake."

"Not to agree with Bat-brat, but if its anything to do with videogames, everyone twenty-five and up is gonna know you're a virgin."

"Guys, guys. Let's not fight. I'm sure we can put this all together. Let's spice up Damian's idea a bit. I know a few names from my time as Bruce's fancy-schmancy gatherings for us to be… _escort_ ed to our goal," Dick grinned. "What was that before, Damian? You wanted to show off how good our _breeding_ is?"

Jason and Tim grinned with him. They had planning to do.


	2. Laying in Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Batboys start setting up, but when police plans get leaked to the public, they have to start rethinking their plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm splitting up chapter 2, the smut from 3 will be moved to 4, and that will be up in 2-3 days. Chapter 3 is 90% done, so expect that by tonight. Still taking suggestions, I'm glad to know that my ideas overlap enough that I only needed to include a few extra things.

"You're not shittin' me, right golden boy?" Jason stood from his chair, arms still crossed and untrusting. "You're talkin' about genuine ladies of the night, right?"  


"Mm-hm."  


"Talkin' about bringin' them here to the manor?"  


"Mm-hm."  


"Talkin' about having the whole damn league to indulge in these fine ladies?"  


"Mm-hm."  


"Havin' these fine ladies with Batman's colleagues in his childhood home?"  


"Yep, that's the plan."  


"Yeah," Jason said with finality, "you're shitting me."  


"Bruce would be extremely pissed, not to mention step right through that door and stop to all of this right now," Tim said.  


"Do you see Bruce, or Alfred, here?" Dick cast his arms wide to the spacious sitting room, only one of the cavernous rooms just like it throughout the mansion. "When was the last time you saw either of them topside?"  


"…Just now?"  


"Out of how much of last week?"  


"Okay, point made."  


"With Bruce trying to manage everything here, something's got to give. Do you think Bruce is going to focus on a party, or do you think he's going to bring the hurt to Gotham's crime? Without Alfred bringing his afternoon tea, I'm pretty sure the dude has no idea what day it is. He's like, 30% of Bruce's impulse control. And the robins are the…"  


"…other 70%," Tim finished, awed.  


Dick smiled. "Exactly. Now, I'll worry about the escorts, while you guys get everything set up everything in the ballroom."  


Immediately, Tim started positively tittering about setting everything up. Stating specifics of the party with Jason. He tittered on about the lights, music, and food, and Jason listed off the different boozes he wanted. Each of them seemed to ignore the other in their own prattling. Dick, on the other hand, look to the quiet chair holding a sour boy. He walked over and sat himself down to squat at eye-level with Damian's glare. Despite his coaxing, the boy still glared at him while stroking Alfred the Cat in his lap. Well, Dick thought, the plan will fall through if I don't cover all my bases.  


"Hey, Buddy," he nudged his knee.  


"I will not go through with this," Damian assured.  


"Look, I know that all this is not your speed, and you're a little young to be as excited as they are for this," Dick ensured. "But that doesn't mean you can't get anything out of the experience."  


"I seriously doubt that, Richard."  


"I mean," Dick said, earnestly. "If everything goes to plan, there's no need for Bruce to know about anything that went on. Anybody that Bruce would believe would have the good sense to make use of innuendo, and those that wouldn't we have nothing to worry about. The only thing that Bruce would know is we set up a party that knocked the socks off the league. And he'd think the whole thing was your idea."  


With that, Damian perked up. He turned to his brothers with a mouthful of suggestions. Dick smirked. It was easier than he thought it'd be. The windows, which the Bat-signal dominated in view, went black, and the cloud of darkness went out over Gotham.

Returning home, the Bat feel into the cot at the base of the stairs, still dressed in most of his armor. Apparently, there had been three escaped patients from Arkham Asylum that he needed to take care of. Calendar Man was only an issue under midnight until he announced the date at midnight, then he could calmly be led back to his cell. In his small little bed, he looked in the dark at the extremely bright screen. He squinted at price fluctuations in the Hong Kong Stock exchange until his eyes burned. With a new email, he looked through the descriptions of the artifacts the league recovered on their last mission. He stopped at the golden vessel file. Opening the pdf, he was bombarded with Dr. Helena Sandsmark's descriptions and hypotheses.

…Snake patterns indicate pre-Mycenean origins…  
…Perfectly round surface rules out human manufacture…  
…Chthonic elements are unreconcilable with the aspects of the worship of Zeus from the period…  
…aspects are more congruent with those seen in the cult of Dionysus.

With that, he clicked the device off. He shut his eyes. Further, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep…  
…  
…  
…  


With a jolt, he was up and awake. The cave was dark and empty apart from his sons. Dressed casually, they both have the golden vessel hefted up in their arms and concerned for some reason seemed… concerned.  


"Hey, Bruce, sorry to wake you up." Dick smiled disarmingly. "We were just trying to think of where this thing could look nice in the ballroom. We didn't mean to wake you up."  


It still surprised him how little rest he got from his nightly two hours of sleep. Might as well get started with the day. He stretched a bit and pulled off the Lycra undershirt of his uniform. When the cold cave air hit his skin, he felt a chill where his sweat had dried from last night, he rose to sit in the cot. He was about to crick his neck when his sons waved him off.  


"Hey, don't get up, we just knock ya' a bit when we were passin' by." He looked between his sons, as well as their dress.  


"'s not mornin'?"  


"No, no, no, no, no…" Dick assured profusely. "We just were getting things set up for Saturday."  


He picked up his tablet, which had fallen from his bed in the night. The screen had shattered on the stone floor. The text for the date was obscured in a spiderweb of cracks. He gave up, he'd just take their word for it. He should trust them more, they were apparently working into the night to help him put on something beautiful for his co-workers. He has good sons.  


"Do you.. need… help?" Bruce said. He swayed a bit. He was pulling long hours at the office. Lucius took his children to upstate New York for the annual Fox family retreat this week.  


"Nah, we got this. It's sure to wow the league, for sure," Dick quickly assured. "but, like, we have a division of labor and everything."  


Oh, that good that they have a plan… whose idea did he end up approving?  


"Which plan… are you all doing?"  


Both looked at each other.  


"Tim."  


"Tim."  


Both looked at him and spoke in unison. "Tim."  


Ah, Tim's idea. He… didn't quite recall Tim's plan, but it was Tim's idea. No one in the family was as particular to the delicate and subtle minutia of planning that pulled off an event. If he could trust Tim with a tenure as CEO, he could trust him to throw an enjoyable, if restrained, get-together.  


"Well, we gotta keep on track. We'll let ya' get back to bed," Jason said pressingly.  


"Wait," Bruce called, rising from the cot.  


"Bruce, we got this…"  


He stood and embraced his sons in each arm.  


"I'm glad to have such good sons," He said, then he fell back into his cot into, exhausted.

Tim's time as the leader for several bands of teenage metahumans has, in his opinion, overqualified him to lead a corporation. For one thing, metahumans usually argued, fornicated, and evaded law enforcement with each other. Now, HR handled all that. Tim could micromanage to his heart's content, without any complaint from anyone below. Tim swiveled in his office chair to the floor to ceiling glass windows. He gazed upon Gotham at the tiny people far below. He spun back to his desk. God, this place brings out the sociopath. He checked through his work email, then his work, work email. The first didn't have much, end of the weekly reports, speculations on the direction the market's likely to take, pending advertisements from marketing waiting for approval—standard stuff. The second was way smaller than it should be. He may have sent the RVSPs out last night, but still, everyone knows the always have the party the Saturday after.  
Scanning through the responses, he did receive, nothing was out of the ordinary. Bart sent back that he would be at Conner's wrestling tournament, Cassie was filling in for Wonder Woman, et cetera, but even then, nearly half the E-vite list had no responses.  
His phone buzzed; Dick was calling. Well, it looks like he will have to be the bearer of bad news. Just like he had to do Jake from accounting earlier today.  


"Yeah, Dick."  


"Hey, Tim."  


"What's up? Everything going to plan still?"  


"Yeah, yeah, everything's good. Just telling you, we had a close call with Bruce. Mr. Big-Clunky-Feet nearly got him out of bed… Don't tell me to shut up, it's true! Yeah, whatever."  


"Is Jason okay?"  


"Yeah, Bruce just gave our resident teddy bear a big hug."  


"That tired, huh?"  


"You wouldn't believe. He just fell back in bed. Hey," Dick's voice took on a more conspiratorial tone. "I think it may to okay for us to skip the big lecture from the Bat, and we can be in and out with the party with him none the wiser."  


Tim thought for a moment. "You sure we could get away with it?"  


"Totally," Dick said, with total assurance, and after a moment. "How's the office?"  


"Oh, you know, just earning my trust fund, firing Jake from accounting, the usual."  


"That's good, you were always better at that sort—" he paused. "Wait, don't Bruce and Lucius hold off on the fires until they do a headcount? Cause, like, a bunch of people died."  


"That would explain why it's been on the itinerary since Monday. Ugh."  


"See you for dinner."  


"Wait, no, I still need to tell—" –and he hangs up.  


There's a knock at his door that keeps him from calling back. Apparently, there is another meeting that could have been replaced by an email on his docket. By the time he gets home, Jason thrusts a set of extension cords at his chest. By the time he gets the lights wired, he is dead tired and in bed. He doesn't even get to ask Dick what happened to the list.

Damian awoke early in the morning. Pennyworth’s absence had left him, as father said, responsible for his pets. This, of course, involved feeding them. Which he would accomplish after his morning run with Titus and Ace. He let the dogs rest on the hill overlooking the estate; sitting beside them in the grass, he looked on to the stately Wayne Manor. Even though this was his favorite spot on the property, found in his early days spent patrolling the perimeter, he still felt a curl in his stomach. Looking at how stately the mansion rose from its gardens filled him with the most distinct dread when he remembered what was to transpire there. Despite it all, he made his way back to his home, he would let this farce continue. If discovered, Father would hardly believe his involvement in this… in this… ugh.  


Despite the self-assurance that he would not face the consequences, the guilt was palpable in the very brick and mortar. The ‘Welcome Heroes!’ banner overhead was far too festive, given the context of today. Strangely, it excluded the heroines that Grayson was so keen on being ‘mindfully acknowledged’ all the time. Inside the ballroom, Drake dronishly plugged amplifiers and soundboards. An entire arrangement to fit around the makeshift runway with a strange pole sprouting up. Todd tiredly assembled the buckles and bars of what looked like a black, leather… hammock. Grayson was nowhere to be found. He made his way further into the manor, he needed to feed his pets. He didn’t need to involve himself also in this affair.  


“Whew!” Grayson cheered. He’d just finished opening Alfred’s can when Dick burst in through the back door. He nodded in greeting and poured more water for his pets.  


“Hey, Dami, could you help me get these mattresses in?” Damian turned his head to the side. Well, he wouldn’t be as associated with this whole affair, but no one could say that he did not help. The thought of prostitutes or the Green Lantern Corps occupying any of the manor's mattresses nearly made him sick. They made quick work of the beds, there were only four anyway, it seems as though there were fewer than were needed, but he had little inclination towards… this content.  
The ballroom seemed finished; otherwise, each bed set in a grid in front of the end of the runway. At least Drake and Todd thought as much, huddled by the golden trophy Father returned with, a literal gift from the gods. Todd decided to use it to mix drinks.  


“Now try this,” Todd offered, scooping a red plastic cup into the golden vessel.  


Drake drank and shuddered. “We can fuel the Batmobile with whatever hasn’t blinded the guests,” he said and handed the cup to Grayson.  


“Ah, you’re just bein’ prissy,” Jason replied, even though Grayson shuddered just as well, and shoved the cup into his hands. “Well, don’t give it to him! He’s prissier than replacement even!”  


Damian was compelled to protect his honor, gulped the rest of the drink, wiped his face with his sleeve, and uttered, “It’s awful,” then shoved the cup back to Todd.  


“Maybe it’s the metal in the thing,” Grayson offered.  


Todd took the cup and scooped another sample, he squinted into the mix of Vodka, Red Bull, and Jägermeister and threw back his head and downed the drink. He shuddered with a sigh and confirmed, “It’s shit.” He scooped another cupful.  


“W-wh-why are you still drinking it?” Drake asked.  


“I put my own shit in there, I’m not wastin’ it!” he downed it without hesitation. “Plus, pregame.”  


“You’re not going to do much tonight hungover like that,” his older brother warned.  


“I’ve never been drunk enough to not finish what I started,” Jason grinned. “You guys wanna try it again, it’s better now.  


“Yeah, I’m just gonna go now,” Drake turned to leave, disgusted.  
Damian also turned to leave, the punch burned like licorice gasoline, but when he reached the doorway, Grayson stopped him. He looked up to his worried expression on his brother’s face.  


“Hey, Dami, you gotta minute?”  


Damian nodded, worried.  


“It’s just that, well, there aren’t going to be any escorts here,” Grayson said with great disappointment. “I’m not sure how it got out, but a huge vice sting is going on this weekend, and the ladies are all holed up. So, none of them are coming to the party.”  


“I never wanted any of these shenanigans to transpire here in the first place, why should I be concerned?” Damian said, narrowing his eyes.  


“Well,” his brother started nervously. “When I told the others, they were having none of it. They told their friends and everything. So, we were brainstorming, and Tim said that all the girls took Duke to Vermont when they heard about the party's theme. He started talking about putting you to use, that you were looking to credit and not do anything.”  


“I brought in the mattresses!”  


“Yes, you helped, but then he started saying things like using you for the entertainment.” Grayson, his only confidant in this depraved world, shushed him when he started to rear in his grip.  


“I’m pretty sure he was joking!” Grayson assured. “But he did say he had a costume ready for you on his bed.”  


He did not share the same illusions about the false Robin that Grayson myopically assigned. He knew full well the threat he was in, he stormed off. If Drake thought he could make a fool of him in such a depraved fashion, he had another thing coming! He would serve the betrayer up to the men of the league in the same garb the traitor intended for him. That devious ugh!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, still taking suggestions gonna try to figure out how to edit tags.


	3. The Cuckoo Emerges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fellow bird shows his true colors; the Batboys are truly fucked; not even Superman can save them now.  
> Technically the reveal if you haven't figured out yet. Still no smut, but some poorly written action scenes, even Grammarly can't save.

Ugh, Jason’s drink seemed only successful at giving Tim a cramp. Setting down in the library, he decided to check the e-vite, then he rechecked it. He checked it a third time. Half the people were not coming! Nearly all the guys confirmed, but almost none of the girls were responding. Well, he should probably call Dick to cancel the token gigolos. But, he had time to check Twitter. Opening the website, he was treated to the top headline of ‘trending in Gotham’: Gotham Sex Workers Take Cover Amid Inter-City Raid on Prostitution. Scrolling through the Twitter feed, his heart started to sink. #notyourrescueproject, #sexworkersrights, and #anightwithoutus were trending nationally. There were hours of sex worker advocates warning others not to go out tonight. Oh God, Tim thought, Dick’s not gonna be able to get anyone tonight.

He ran through his list again. They needed people to fill the role, you know voluntarily, but not a single woman confirmed, they’re boned. He started going through phone numbers because they have to be coming, they have to. Stephanie: out of service. Cass: out of service. Helena Bertinelli: out of service. B— 

His phone started to ring. He answered immediately, maybe it was one of the numbers he—

“Hello, Tim,” Barbara Gordon greeted congenially.

“Oracle, thank God!” Tim cheered, relieved. She could probably get the rest of the Birds of Prey to get here in time for the party. “If you could—”

“That’s where I have to stop ya right there,” she continued. “The girls and I won’t be attending your little, how should I say, man-child frat party. While I can’t take credit for nipping your hooker scheme in the bud, I am going to make sure that none of us end up as your… substitutes.”

That’s exactly what I was planning to do, Tim thought.

“That’s not what I was planning to do,” he said.

“Mm-hm, well anyway, the girls and I are on our way to the lake in New Hampshire, for the weekend, outside of cell service. Buh-bye!”

“Which lake in New Hampshire?”

“Bye!”

With that his stomach fell, his heart pounded, and the walls were closing in—  
His phone was ringing.

“H-hello?”

“Hey, Timmy! Just telling you now that I’m going to go pick up the girls—”

“They’re not gonna be there,” Tim responded, dead inside.

“What do you mean—”

“Blüdhaven and Gotham PD scared them all off. Oracle just said she took all the girls to the lake. We’re screwed.”

“Hey now, buddy, don’t be sad, no one blames you, well almost no one,” Dick consoled.

“What do you mean by ‘almost’ no one?” Tim asked.

“What? Nothing, nothing. It’s just,” Dick paused. His friendly tone became far more severe. “Damian was just here, and when he heard that the girls were in Vermont, well, he started throwing a bit of a fit. Muttering that we should offer the least useful Robin to the ‘lecherous fools’ as he said.”

What! That whiny little pissant did nothing, and he was the useless one? So, demon brat shows his true colors. There must be some expectation that this would fall through. The imp must have planned this as his contingency. If the cretin had a plan like this, then there must be some form of costume ready in the brat’s bedroom to humiliate him further and sell to the league that he was up for grabs. Well, let’s see how well it looks on Damian now.

“Goodbye, Dick. I have work to do.”

“What? I haven’t even told you—”

“The test tube bastard must have something whipped up for me in his room. From inference, I know just where. Good-bye Dick, the party will go on just as planned.”

Well, yeah, but, Dick thought, you were supposed to be a lot harder to convince. Oh well, I might as well execute the plan now.

Despite what he says most of the time, Jason, at times, has regrets. Currently, he has many regrets. The room spun, he was sick to his stomach, and he had this weird cramp lower than his stomach but not his liver. He was certifiably sloshed when Dickey boy waltzed over.

“Hey, Jason,” he said. 

“Ugh!” he said, surprised as Jason vomited on him.

“Bleh!” Jason continued on both of them.

Dick caught him in his arms as he collapsed. His legs liquor-weak and his knees alcohol soaked. He rested his head on his chest, and the room spun a little bit slower. He felt too warm in this embrace, but the arms steadied him. Above him, Dick was muttering about the mess and the plan, but he was too loud for Jason not to try to ignore him. Dick slowly guided him over to behind the stage. Dick opened a cabinet they rolled in for the girls. He felt a wet towel on his face. With that cooling grace, Jason didn’t pay attention as Dick helped him out of his clothes. He heard “Don’t swallow,” and Listerine was poured into his mouth he spat back in the bottle. Jason felt like a child again standing nude and unbalanced. He leaned on Dick to help get his socks on, pulled up to his thighs, they were pretty long. They worked together to get him in the new underwear. Maybe they ripped because Jason felt a breeze behind him. Dick apparently gave up to change his own clothes, because he seemed to leave. He couldn’t see where on account of being blind drunk. He felt a weight on his chest and stumbled back into the cabinet, closing behind him. Well, at least it wasn’t bright, and the metal was cold on his skin. He’d get out when the room stopped spinning…

His suspicions were confirmed when he found the jockstrap and thigh socks in Damian’s room. They were meant for him because not a single teenager has used a jockstrap to work out since the early 2000s. He was insulted by their neon green color and the fact they were a size too small. The league would surely think he was up for grabs with those things stretched on him. He snuck out of the hallway and met with a sight he should have expected: Damian slinking out of his room. They pause when they see each other, a poised and elegant stillness with each gripping colorful underwear in closed fists.

“The jig is up, demon brat,” Tim taunted.

“No, Drake, I found these on your bed, your plan has backfired.”

Wait, his bed? Since Alfred has gone on vacation, the only thing on his bed was the pile of laundry he has not and would not fold. There was no ‘uniform’ for Damian to be holding up for him. A misdirect then. He narrowed his eyes; Damian drew his sword.

As Damian charged, Tim jumped and pulled a curtain rod down. As he landed, he deposited the curtain on his opponent. When he rolled into a crouch, Damian was waiting in a nest of shredded fabric. They struck again. Damian’s sword burrowed halfway into his staff. They pushed against each other until they pulled apart. Damian flicked his sword, and it rattled on the hardwood. He flicked again and swiped through his belt and hoodie. Tim pulled his knife and slashed through as many clothes as he could. They exchanged parries and slashes until they were dressed in tatters. Tim finally got his staff again, but the next time he parried stuck the sword in the metal again. When he tried to pull this time, Tim bent the rod around its cuts, drew the sword out of Damian’s hands, and tossed it down the hall. Tim threw his knife with it. They grappled, their clothes peeled away, and they were naked. From there on, it was a game of tugging socks and pulling jockstraps. They were ‘dressed’ when Damian cartwheeled over his discarded clothes and pulled a canister. Tim held his breath, but not before he got a huff of knock out gas. Tim staggered and looked up at Damian, standing triumphantly. He saw when Dick grabbed him from behind, and despite the struggling, he bound his wrists in inescapable Batcuffs. Yay… Dick was here… to save… save him… With that, Tim collapsed and drifted into chloroform sleep.

In all the time he’s lived in the manor, he never imagined it like this. The beds all set up without sheets, leather toys festooned about, and a leather swing set up on the side. He shoved the awful gaudy punchbowl to the darkest corner of the ballroom, a place he used to hide in during Bruce’s festive galas. The runway was just a means to an end, for when lies about prostitutes were being told. He could make use of it. His brothers would probably be less enthused about it, so a one-man show before the night got rolling was all he’d probably get out of it. Damian started kicking again, probably should put him down before he loosened his bindings. He dumped Tim on the mattress at his side, where he slummed like a sack of potatoes. Dick pinned Damian down and tethered his cuffs to the anchor set under the bed. Once Dick let up, he started jerking all about and flailing.

“Now come on, Dami, you didn’t struggle this much when we were ‘cleaning up’ for the party,” He said, grinning. “See, Tim is making no fuss at all.”

That earned him a glare he hasn’t seen in a while like he was a stranger again. Well, to say that he has always been like… this, would be a lie. The first afterparty Dick attended was at the tender age of fourteen; while they were tamer then, they were still for the adults. He couldn't enjoy it as his friends did. Under Batman’s tutelage, his ideas on sex were slightly… warped. You could only investigate so many serial rapists or track Professor Pyg’s hysterectomies on so many occasions before you start seeing sex in the worst light. Then he met Kori. Kori had an equally abnormal view of sex. He spent the time he should have been in college, learning a new thing about his body each night. The parties hit differently after that. 

Every party pushed the limits further. Each new kink or broken taboo managed to excite him in a way the last one couldn’t anymore. The more he forced, the more comfortable he could feel in the awful world where the rules failed to apply. He could only step forward, surefooted. He could not be the man he is, stumbling back to the globe Bruce thought lurked outside. Eventually, even the parties couldn’t catch up to how far he’s fallen outside the bounds. So, when he had the opportunity to show his family the kind of peace he knew, maybe they could experience the type of comfort he felt. Damian has followed his father in his overbearing shadow his entire adult life. Dick was not going to let him waste the best years of his youth emulating the most repressed person he’s ever known. Maybe then, Bruce could understand.

The black equipment Tim set up, turned red in the setting sun. The guests would be arriving soon. He’d let Jason out of the closet, eh, halfway through the party? Maybe Little Wing will be up for all this. If not, the party would be too in the swing of things to stop by then. It would be like him to join up just to piss off Bruce.

Crack!

There was a thumping in the parlor. Dick rushed through the corridors. When he reached the room, he could only stare in horror at the grandfather clock left open. God, Bruce was going to kill him! It was going to be worst than when he killed the Joker and Bruce had to use mouth to mouth—

There was a pattering on the stairs in the front room. Dick had to explain. Bruce nearly tore the door off its hinges in his rage. He had to get Bruce to understand why he did these things. He had to figure out a way to say he was sorry—  
Bruce was stomping down the steps in his standard Italian loafers, shoving an arm through his tailored wool jacket nearly sprinting on the marble. When the businessman’s eyes met his, Dick nearly froze in fear.

“God, Dick, I’m late, I need the Ferrari now.”

Bewildered, Dick tossed the keys. He didn’t know, God, he didn’t know. Bruce thought it was the morning. He thought it was still Friday. Bruce was just about to leave. 

“Hey Bruce,” Dick said. He loved pushing his luck, didn’t he? He grabbed a notepad and offered the pen. “I just need you to write something quick for the buffet tomorrow. It will only take a sec.” 

Bruce paused and glared for a moment, then he scribbled on the notepad and rushed out the door. The revving engine faded across the estate. He did it. He, actually, did it. Have as much as you want. –BW. They sure will, B!

Time for the finishing touches, he stripped off his shirt and pants. He heard the tell-tale impact outside and made his way to the door. There was a knock, fifteen minutes early, you can always count on Superman.

“Hello, Bruce,” Clark Kent called from the other side. “Sorry again that I can’t stay for the shindig. Conner advanced to the finals at Championships! I brought a pie to keep ya’ company. I have to head on back and watch my boy knock Nebraska Polytech silly!”  
Dick broke the ampule of pink glowing powder and opened the door.

“Oh, Dick, It’s nice to see you…” At the moment that Superman stood gobsmacked, Dick blew the powder in his face. When the Man of Steel breathed in the mixture of Pink kryptonite and Trilamide, his eyes dilated. 

The pharmaceutical would open him up to suggestion; the mineral would open him up ideas. Dick posted Bruce’s little note for the others when he tried to pull his arm back in a steely grip held him. There was a grain of red kryptonite tossed in there to help get rid of any of his inhibitions. Grinning, he invited him in, and obediently Superman stepped in.


	4. The Doom of The Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unsupervised party is in full swing, the robins face the first wave of men. Maybe they will have a comrade, but it's obvious that there is no way out for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done. Don't worry; this is only the first half of the orgy. I have most of the pairings figured out, based on your suggestions. There was some conflict with some people being for and some against some of the pairings. I've erred on caution. So as many people can enjoy it, I might do some alternates for some people, adequately tagged, of course. I will be starting another fic as well, so the next chapter will be in three days, Hopefully.
> 
> If anyone would be open to offering helpful input, it would be very appreciated. This is the first time I've done sex scenes.
> 
> Comment what alternates you might want to see based on things not in the tags or others have commented against.

Lead into the front room like a thirsty horse to a watering hole, Clark slowly trailed the vixen of his temptations sauntering right before him. He remembers being shocked before. When the door opened, Clark had been expecting Alfred to answer the door, take his gift, and then he’d be off to be with his family. Appearing in the frame instead, Dick Grayson stood, with barely a stitch on him. Frankly, he’s come to expect half-dressed vigilantes in his line of work, but not like this. Not like they stepped out the locker room half ready for the game. He was so flabbergasted the dust hit his face unfeelingly. Whatever his plans were that evening, they flew right the window with just a few deep breaths. 

What even it was in that powder, it worked quickly. Right before Clark's eyes, he saw the athletic body of a life-long gymnast, the shape of a young man he has known since before the young man could even shave and transform into something unquestionably erotic. Thoughts and images that he would generally cast aside or put away came to the forefront, and they were here to stay. The taut muscles turned vivacious, his skin gleaming on every curve he could see, in every way, he could see. The golden skin stretched smoothly over solid muscle, every divot of his abs teased exotic beauty, making him wish to plunge deeper down this rabbit hole he found himself in. The blue elastic reached around Dick’s waist the same way he has seen a million times in the locker room, but now it contoured the savory muscles and coyly covered a curious character cruelly confined. The weighty pouch begged him to peek through the mesh, and he took his fill, unabashed. Unlike ever before, his mouth watered. Not just for all that, but also the sinew of the legs that stretched down for miles he would put himself between and really ride. Twist him in all the ways he knew he could. Screw him in the ways one could expect, imagine, or maybe just as well discover.

Clark Kent found himself stark still staring like an idiot, but then saw that strong dazzling arm reached right passed his nose, he could not think of a single honest thought of where he wanted it, no more than when it pulled away. He kept it close with a grip he has well-practiced: painless but unyielding. Clark wanted more. The cute little grin would not explain all these new feelings Clark couldn’t seem to put away, but those lips made him yearn in ways he could not believe. When the vixen pulled him in, not all his strength could stop him from following. 

Inside, some part of him felt out of place in his cape here, stuck in a fancy foyer, but he stepped for each step Dick took, and when his hand fell in with Dick’s, he would march along eagerly. The exposed view from behind kept him content, for the moment.

Pulled through the corridors of the manor, he passed signs and arrows pointing them along. They reached the ballroom at the edge of his anticipation. With the doors pushed open, he could see it transformed from the place to set all of Bruce’s fancy galas to this empty debauched setting. Nearly empty. His eyes cast down to the two bodies on the floor. While Damian gazed at him with desperation amid sex toys and lubricants, his gaze drifted to Tim’s tantalizing prone body, hiked hips put on display framed in a red jockstrap. The lights flashed on. He peaked into the spotlight and saw Dick. He was leaning on the ledge with the remote in his hands and a smile on his face. He clipped it to his jockstrap, shimmied himself up the runway behind him, and presented himself spread eagle like a whore with no shame whatsoever. The legs he’s been salivating over, the ass he lusted after, laying stretched out before him, framing a glistening wanton hole meant for him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Damian’s hope die. In the blink of an eye, his feet planted either side of Dick’s ass balanced on the ledge. Each hand pinned a thick thigh. He set himself poised above this lovely creature. To do what exactly?

Dick’s smile never faltered. With the hair out of his eyes, his lustful gaze was unmistakable and knew exactly what they both wanted. Dick’s hands, gentle and devious, reached between them. Rough with a man’s callous, but skilled like a courtesan, those sinful fingers teased the helm of his belt and gripped his member through the red briefs. The friction burned like torment but sang like a tease. With a few buttons pressed, that Dick definitely shouldn’t know about, the other hand pulled the tight alien fabric away from his skin, and Clark watched it dissolve. He rolled his hips against the acrobat’s tantalizingly slow strokes, exposing himself more and more til’ his cock bobbed totally unhindered. 

He let his member rest on Dick’s body, engorged as it was, it stretched until the head was clearly past Dick’s navel. Didn’t that light a fire under him. Clark maneuvered until he set himself in the cleft of the beautiful round ass eagerly provided.

“C’mon now,” Dick gasped. “I’m ready for this. I’ve waited so long.”

Hmm, waited, huh? How much longer could this creature stay patient?

With a breath, he gently rose and slowly rested. The head of his cock dragged up the crease where he would tease the hole as if let him in, only to slide back down. He repeated, dragging himself, again and again, pressing harder each time. His pre squelching against the hole and down through the cleft. With how muscled ring spasmed against his length more and more violently, Dick seemed to be nearing his limits.

The breathing sharpened with each pass, and Clark’s grew more labored as well. He didn’t know what Superman was waiting for. The red Kryptonite loosened his inhibitions, the pink ensured his preferences, the Tilamide opened him to suggestion…

“Please,” Dick begged from below. “Fuck me.”

With that, Clark took the plunge. His length found the hole and his girth soldiered through. Pushing slowly but unceasingly. It felt as if it would go on forever, Dick may have prepared, but no one could ready him for this. He moaned, cried, and thought he would pop before he felt the heavy weight of the Kryptonian’s balls rest on his ass. Before he could adjust, Clark was moving again. From the depths of his body, Clark pulled back, probably taking half of Dick’s brain with him. The girth robbed Dick of his sense, who knows what the drag on his prostate is doing to him. Because if he were honest, his mind would just blank occasionally. The only thing he could remember in those moments would be his own moans, screams, and the sight of his abs bulging and distending to make room for the Man of Steel. Superman sped with each deep plunge, faster and faster until he set a punishing pace that had his balls slapping Dick’s ass loudly. The sounds of their coupling filled the cavernous ballroom like a stallion in the stable. Grunting, thrashing, and moaning all about. 

The pace was brutal by human standards. Dick was nearly unresponsive, each pass by his prostate brought stars to his eyes. He’d equate the pounding he received from Big Blue as the most pleasurable punching he’s ever received. Every time Dick took a gulp of air, a thrust hit near his kidneys shoved it out of him. Much too soon, he felt a tell-tale tingle in his swollen groin, and the next moment he was spurting harder than he’s ever had before. If his fucked-out memory served correctly, it was the first time he came untouched as well. 

None of this served to slow down Supe’s. Like a man with a mission, he pounded to his heart’s content. Never slowing through the spasms of Dick’s orgasms, never relenting when Dick got too hard again too quickly. The only moment he actually stopped, he fucked as deep as he could with one thrust. Seated himself far into the heat of the pliant body beneath him, forcing into some unexpected part and let go. He came and felt the seed surround him in the channel. Dick could feel a boiling warmth pool somewhere deep inside. 

“Ugh… ugh…ugh…”

He could feel the pulsing of Superman’s dick as it flooded his ass with cum. He gasped with each surge. If he could count right now, he would have lost it by now, in what seemed like an eternity. Superman started to pull out, leaving Dick feeling full and almost sated, only to start up again at the same punishing pace without a second of genuine rest. Ramming into the wet heat, Clark’s face stayed a stoic bust of the man of tomorrow, aloof and calm as Dick writhed in the pain of near-constant pleasure. 

If Clark this morning thought of how wrong it was to be fucking someone young enough to be his son, he’d at the very least blush. However, right now, there wasn’t anything in his head but plunging in and ramming home. When the ballroom doors burst open, he didn’t even flinch. He simply kept rooted, rolling his hips, minutely to the grunts of the boy under him.

“God, what’s going on here?” he didn’t need to see to know what’s going on. He heard them. Members of the league, only the men anyway, curious, dumbfounded, and aroused. They fanned out, intrigued, but unobtrusive. No one bothered to help Damian, gagged, and begging on his mattress. They tip-toed around stray sex toys, erstwhile bedding, and ignobly dressed sidekicks, while undoubtedly interested, they ignored all that in favor of the red cape in the spotlight.

“Supes?” Kyle asked worriedly. He reached out an arm to the moaning curtain of fabric. Before he could touch it, it sputtered in a flurry of movement.

Clark knew that the crowd would intrude on him and the boy. Maybe stop him if they saw the mewling creature in his arms and expect the worst. Perhaps, he should show them. In one fluid motion, he flipped the both of them around, twisting Grayson on his cock. Even surprised, the gymnast managed to plant his feet on Clark’s knees in the best way to get leverage and spear himself on Clark’s cock under his own volition. Superman brought his hands to the trim waist. Dick was already desperately trying to recover that grueling pace that brought him so much pleasure before. Clark took it on himself to help and thrust up into Dick’s eager hole. Pacified in the pleasuring, he was receiving, he finally took in his surroundings. Staring out to his audience, Dick smiled despite being on the edge of consciousness. He folded his arms behind his head and reclined, almost like he was the most relaxed person in the room, floating three feet in the air with a foot-long cock jammed in his ass.

Shocked the crowd stood silently, for a moment; none of them knew how to react—

“Hal, get away from him!”

“What, Barry?” Hal whined, already halfway to Damian. “Spooky’s handing these guys on a silver platter. C’mon, it said, ‘Have as much as you want’ on the door, and I call Green Lantern dibs for the twerp.”

“You can’t call dibs. No one is calling dibs!” Barry shouted, waving his hands about in a staying motion. Superman kept fucking Dick in the background.

Hal let out an annoyed bleat, “You weren’t this prudish last time.”

“You know that I can’t ever get high with my metabolism, that was the first time I’ve been high,” Barry replied. “But you can’t honestly believe that Bruce would hand out his children to all of us like this was a sleazy brothel.”

“Supes’ is doing it. You’re telling me that the big blue boy scout would be titling Lil’ Richie there. Plus, boys? These guys are all practically in college. You there, Gaggy, where’d you apply, wait, not him, I’m not 100% he’s not statutory.”

“Okay. One, really Uncle Hal? Two, his birthday was just last month. Three, I know that Dick’s a big enough slut to do all this all by himself.” Wall West stated. Dick moaned again at the mention of his name, he closed his eyes in ecstasy and shot his load nearly a foot away through his pouch. Moving the pliant body lower to get more friction, Superman bumped the remote.

“Yeah, I see Jason’s gone. If he’s not here, I know that this was not bat authorized, so no Bueno. I don’t want the big man on me,” Kyle added. 

The lights flashed in colors through the smoke being pumped on stage, music blared through the speakers. Over the commotion, the sound of a motorized deadbolt unlocking rang out. In the rig of wires, something was released, unintentionally. 

“Would you look at that.” Hal grinned.

Through the curtains, the second Robin, the thick-thighed, bastard prince of Gotham, made his strut on the runway. The skimpy jock and thigh socks could barely contain the sheer beef on display. With each confident sashay, his hairy pecs bounced, and his enormous furred ass jiggled. His white socks stretched nearly threadbare around the massive trunks that passed as legs. The hair dusted on his pecs trailed down his abs to the ridiculously stretched mesh between his legs. Dressed in white, Jason could pass for the sluttiest of brides. He made his way down the runway accompanied by the cacophony of wolf whistles and cheers. When Jason trotted up to the pole and gripped it firmly with his burly arm and swung around, giving everyone a great view. With enough umph off the pole, he leaped from the stage into a leather swing, his feet setting into the stirrups.

“Well?” Jordan asked teasingly.

“Fine,” Barry replied, laughing.

There was a jingling of buckles and the sound of stretching leather. The march of heavy boots stomped through the hardwood. Lobo smirked around his cigar. “Great, now step aside, the main man calls dibs on swing boy,” he smirked.

“Wha-what? What are you doing here? And I thought we said no dibs!” Barry Allen sputtered as Lobo pushed past him. “Hal!”

“What can I say, Barry? Should have been quicker on the uptake. Just wait for your turn for now.”

“What do you mean?” He turned around to see Aquaman slotting up to the third Robin. “Aw, man!”  
“We had him deputized to help take care of the monsters on the west coast, We told him about the party so we wouldn’t have to pay him,” said John Steward as he unbuckled his belt. “Sure, beats me, how he’s the fastest man alive.”

“Almost like he may not be,” Wally intoned as he watched Hal creep up on a glaring resistant Damian. “Are we all sure that Jason was, I don’t know, 100% sober.”

“What you mean?” Kyle asked, pulling his shirt off; Wally shrugged.

“You mean, you think that Jason Todd, bat-assassin extraordinaire, got drunk enough that he managed to stagger down this runway, swing around this pole trying to keep upright, and land in that swing when he fell off, without ralphing up his stomach,” Kyle confirmed. Wally chuckled; it was just a silly thought.

Damian made a few token struggles, futile none the less. He resolved to glare at Hal as he slowly crouched over him.

“Hey, Buddy,” Hal smiled. His hands rubbed and groped the green socks covering thin legs, they trailed up to his taut slim waist. The Green Lantern crawled forward to straddle him more. Damian crossed his legs tightly; he would put up a fight if he could. When Damian would not let Hal slot his naked hips between his legs, he gave the boy a bored smile. In an instant, a green construct shot out the ring and clamped on each leg. With a smirk, the legs were forced apart, and Hal could finally slot himself in. He was slow in his movements and peered down between the spread legs and saw a glimmering prepped hole waiting, tantalizing. Hal languished in his progress. The Lantern brought his length to the green pouch and rubbed deep into the flesh underneath until it was just as hard as he was. Hal gently rubbed the head down the cleft of the young ass. He teased the hole when he finally got there. Pushing the broad head of his pretty sizeable length, at the edges of that cute little love channel, only for it to pull shut. He looked up to the gagged face and saw tears streaming down its cheeks. 

Ah, Hal thought, It’s the kid’s first time.

He kissed the tears away down his cheeks. Uncharacteristically patient, he waited for the hole to relax against the prodding length. Slowly Hal pushed in the tight heat, gentle to not cause too much discomfort. He removed the gag around the kid’s mouth, he was quiet, staring. Hal Jordan nodded; the kid nodded back. He took off then. Hal picked up his hips and slammed down again. He got a gasp from that he set a punishing pace, thrusting forcing through any pushback, shoving past clenching muscle. Claiming unclaimed land, in a place, no man’s gone before. Hal grunted to match the kid’s panting. He picked up the speed to really jackhammer that ass, rock that kid’s world. His first ride with a guy was just as wild. No sweet little words or adulations, he got cracked open like an egg back then, in one of the best lays in his life, and he’s gonna give it to the kid now. 

Hal got real deep then, started rolling his hips to the sweet symphony his partner made. For a long time, he found just the right spot to really drive the kid wild. If that silent scream boded well, then he was rocking this boy’s world. All good things come to an end, though. When Hal Jordan came to his limits, he pushed off the inevitable for as long as he could, but he was just a man. He came in a torrent just like in his prime. When the post-coital bliss dried up, he stood, peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt, and looked around at the other stations shuttering with his comrades, everyone stripping off and putting on a show for others just as he had done. Between them, other members of the league spectated as they waited their turn.   
Over the rave music, he could hear the slow golf class of a certain John Steward.

“Quite the show you put on,” John intoned, tossing a towel.

“Hey, what can I say? The kid’s a natural,” Hal replied winded.

“You don’t if I but in, do ya?”

“Not at all, ya’know what I said,” Hal assured. “Ya’know what? Kyle, Guy, Simon, get over here! We gotta train to catch!”

Usually, when a customer couldn’t pay up for a job after the fact, he’d just murder them and take the skulls. He wasn’t liable to make exceptions until that green lanterns offered something that they said would make up for it. They yammered on about the parties, booze, and drugs: the good stuff. He nearly went back on the deal when they told him that fragg, Batman, was supposed to be the one to decide what was fun. But they said that the guy was loaded, a king of a city or something. They never mentioned anything about this. Four boys tied up just the way he likes ‘em.

After the little show, he knew exactly which one he was choosing. He passed hands down his thighs. Creative idea for the underwear on this planet has a lot of open access. The strap was tight but pulled away when he dug his fingers under, and it snapped back on release. The body set in swing moaned at that. Lobo grinned when he heard that little mewl and opened his fly. His length was something to be proud of, even as a kid he was had more meat than most adults on his homeworld, before he blew it up, of course. Lobo got his ring out his pocket and bound his heavy balls. He’s been waiting a week for his payment; he couldn’t get to any space brothel in all that time, if not for a cockring, spilled them the moment he got in there. 

He smacked the hole with his cock, someone was kind enough to ready the bitch for him. Flushed and aching, his cock speared right in, he should be careful, he thrust with enough gusto that his bitch swung away and off his dick. Annoyed, he grabbed the chains and yanked him back on his dick. He didn’t seem to be the only one in a fuss, his bitch cried out when he pulled away. The kid was out of it a bit, he smirked, might as well get a little bit rough so the poor boy could feel it. He really bore down on him, shafting him nice and simple. Lobo was always like the loud ones, but he liked to hear himself even more. He darted in and out, faster, and faster, his balls slapping against that perfect muscled ass that just sucked him in. That was loud, but his partner was grunting and moaning and trying to steal the show. Lobo raised a hand, SMACK! His bitch wasn’t expecting that, now was he? The skin he hit bloomed red and angry. The sight of his handiwork pleased him, dearly. He smacked again, this time on the other cheek. He spanked and spanked, every time getting a meek little eep from the bitch, and a big red ass to fuck.

When he stopped getting a response from his abuse, Lobo settled himself over the sling and that   
perfect body. He wrapped him up in his arms, and the chains sang as he hiked him onto his lap. His bitch dangled about like a ragdoll in his grip, the legs wouldn’t even wrap around the waist like a good boy would do. He took a drag from his cigar and blew it in the barely responsive, fucked out, face. He thrust up into that ruined hole. Bouncing that big beautiful body all around on his cock. He really got off on the perfect chest rubbing on his. Those perked up nipples dragging across his after they got hard on getting fucked. He thrust as deep the bastard wound let him in and came a week’s worth of pent up spunk. What a wonderful world.

Tim woke up to a mean fuck. When Damian took him down with knock out gas, he had half expected to end up in this position: face first in a bare mattress (he should have argued more for the sheets, they would have thrown them away after, but Dick kept on bringing up the cleaning like he hadn’t even been listening to him) and getting pelted down by some alpha male asshole with much too big of a prick. He thought he saw Dick take care of the demon brat. Big brother Nightwing really dropped the ball on this one. Now where was the bastard, this was all his idea. 

…and that’s Damian getting piledriven by both Kyle Rayner and Simon Baz. Wow, that was a really acrobatic pose they had there. Damian with his ass in the air while the Lanterns were on their hands at either end of the bed really giving that double penetration to him, the only traction for their thrusting are their overlapped thighs hoisted on Damian’s poor bent legs. Well, if Damian’s down for the count, the only one sex-positive enough to make Mr. Ten Inches not that much of an inconvenience would be… Dick having a grand old time of Superman fucking him against a pole. If Tim didn’t play his cards right, he would just end up as fucked out and senseless as the rest of them. He better stop this… maybe ask him… to stop… gotta put a stop… to this… 

The quick jackhammer of hips changed in angle and started to smash his prostate like a dagger to the frontal lobe. He lost sight of Jason getting spit-roasted by Roy Harper, and Oliver Queen in the sea of stars pounded into his vision. For a brief minute of lucidity, that whale of a cock settled right where his spleen should be. He felt his waist distend, and his body fill up. He was looking at the giant foot of the guy that was fucking him when he had three fingers jammed in his mouth and hooked in his cheek. They jerked his head up to look his ‘lover’ in the face.

“There you are, Little Fish. Awake now, are we?” Aquaman grinned down at him, he was nude, and his long blond hair framed his face. He could stare up at the unrestrained god-like physique. He’s studied the best photos in the world, and no one had a more perfect subject. “It’s almost rude how long we’ve been coupled, and you’ve been so still. No matter, I’ll be sure to pursue your pleasure as well as mine.”  
The fingers were ripped from his mouth, and before he could make sense anything, his splayed hips were clamped in a vise grip. His entire body was pulled up with superhuman strength, and he was fucked onto the cock above him in such a perfect place…

They had fucked through three of Tim’s orgasms by the time they got Arthur off. He kept on going, that giant cock punishing his ass not only managed to fuck another orgasm to paint his chest from his sore cock, but pump the load from Tim’s ass, with a glob of cum dripping down taint and on his face. His legs were thrown down when Arthur dropped him. He felt like a marionette with his strings cut. The foot that planted next to his, honestly, he was so out of it that it could have stomped on his face, and he would have been okay with it. Aquaman took off, probably to fuck another of his brothers silly, but that was fine. Someone else sauntered up from the dark, and Tim rolled to his side and picked up his leg, eager for his next ‘lover’ to step up.

Billy Batson hasn’t had the best relationship with sex. Through high school, he was a scrawny orphan, with no money, and little ability to commit to events. He was not popular with anyone. Being Captain Marvel didn’t help either. While theoretically, a bombshell with the strength of Hercules and the Stamina of Atlas, one of the great enemies of mankind is lust, as the wizard said. He only found the fly in the suit last year. While he is anatomically correct and proportional, he wasn’t sure that such a paragon of virtue and ideals should be committing such acts. That is until he saw Superman jerk around Nightwing like a ragdoll. In his time on the streets, he’s seen Johns treat prostitutes with more care. Billy knows that Superman is a good man, the best of men. So, if he’s able to …do these things, then maybe he could try.

He wandered around. Billy tried to touch Robin, but Guy Gardner set himself behind him, naked. Billy tried to grab the swing Red Hood was in, but the Flashes sped right in front of him. Billy decided to go after Red Robin, but some of the Titans were piled around him. All that was left was Nightwing and Superman.

He found them on the runway a tired Nightwing bouncing blearily on Superman’s lap. He was still dressed in the tight underwear that shocked everyone today, the only difference being the mess of stains everywhere, his fluids, Superman’s all staining every aspect of the jockstrap and socks. Superman was much different from before. While earlier, he was only undressed as he needed to be to pound Nightwing halfway to a coma, now, the artful robust sinew of his legs lead into tight red boots, and his broad pecs showed off the hair on his chest. Exposed, Superman's body laid without a shirt and with his pants removed. Almost bored, he dusted the red cape still attached at his shoulder and tweaked his nipples synchronized with each time Nightwing brought himself down. He stumbled up to the writhing bodies in his too-large body and tripping over his too-large feet, at that moment, feeling more comfortable flying away than on his own two feet. Dick was too distracted to notice, but Superman brought his blank weighty gaze to Billy above. Awkward. He tried to speak even though Superman was still tweaking his nipples, it didn’t seem like he would stop.

“Uh, Superman,” Billy started nervously. “Could I have a turn?”

Superman finally left his poor nipples alone. He brought his hands to still Nightwing’s hips and stood, setting Dick bent over, panting. Billy’s gaze was distracted by Superman’s huge bare ass until he turned and showed off his impressive pecs with a pointed look. Billy tore his gaze from his real-life childhood sex dream to the offered ass set before him. He looked at the gaping hole pouring out pints of cum in a stream. His head turned back to the giant cock that pumped that ass so full, it was still covered in white and dripping. Superman brought a cupped hand to the ass and tried to clear away everything, but there was just too much. Billy stepped up to the plate and gripped the hips in his hands. It would be simple, just bring yourself forward— wait. He was such an idiot, he forgot to open his fly! He should just give up now before he made more of a fool of himself. Superman planted his head in the nape of his neck, breathing deeply. His clean hand snaked around Billy’s waist and to where his fly was. He has never told anyone where that was before.  
Superman pulled out the cock from red fabric and brought to its full length in his grip, his first erection in this form longer and thicker than any cock he’s seen, even amongst all these superhuman dudes. The power of Zeus, something whispered in his mind. Slowly, with great anticipation, he brought himself to bear and pushed into the channel. It was slick and felt warm in all the ways he’d imagined and several that he couldn’t have. Billy stayed gentle as he could go through the channel until he finally bottomed out. Superman got off his shoulder and walked to the edge of the stage. While Billy was busy fumbling with apparently the best ass in the community, he couldn’t keep his eyes off Superman’s in the worst way possible. 

Superman stood watching over the crowd writhing on the rave of the night. The spotlight still shone on him like before. Billy could feel his thrusting pickup just by the sight of that amazing man. He was like a father to him throughout his time in the league. Always there to help with either Black Adam or his Algebra Homework, and now this. Superman’s remaining red boot splayed out, and he stuck his ass out, Billy didn’t realize what he was doing until he parted his ass for everyone to see. And slathered the cum he got from Nightwing onto his own to his own hole. Billy nearly hit a gallop on Dick’s hips with his eagerness. It wasn’t his fault when Clark was putting on this kind of show for everyone.

Superman was scanning the crowd, rubbing his pecs in time with fingers he’s shoving in his ass. 

Oh God, Billy’s hips stuttered, he wasn’t just making them watch he was presenting himself.

A few of the members realized it as well from across the room. Billy panicked as they started to make their way across the room. He had to put a stop to this!

“Superman! Superman!” Billy whispered. “Quit it!”

He looked at Billy with that same unyielding gaze, then down to Billy's hips, which were still plunging in and out of Nightwing. He turned back to the men and track them as they shoved through the crowd. 

Supes wasn’t gonna stop until he finished with Dick? Fine then. Billy picked up the pace, thrusting and shoving as fast as he could safely do. He was spurned on by the approach of the men getting closer and closer. Any focus Billy had was solely devoted to the fingers the were jabbing faster and faster into Superman’s ass. Billy felt a sense of impending doom, he wasn’t going to make it. The men were almost at the stage, and Superman had growing eagerness on his face, desperate, wanton lust. When Billy lost him, he’d lose him for the whole party. Those men didn’t look as generous as Superman was, and they were walking up right now. He could barely watch as he snapped his hips, desperately tried to cum. Superman smiled when they stood over them and bent over, with an arm outstretched to help them onto the stage. At that moment, when his spread cheeks flexed in tandem with the glistening of that ready cunt, Billy came with a fury. He ripped his cock out and, with the speed of Mercury, pulled Clark into his arms before he could pull up Atom Smasher. The men stumbled and glared, disappointed. Billy jerked his head to where Nightwing leaned against the pole, leaking again.

They departed glaring daggers.

He’d managed it, he managed to preserve that paternal sense that Clark gave him all those years ago. When he turned to apologize that he didn’t help sooner, that Superman was clearly not in the right state of mind, he found a tongue down his throat. So thoroughly shocked, Billy didn’t respond when Superman leaned back and guiding Billy’s hands over his chest, over his abs, and to his hips. He cocked his hands behind his head, flexing his mouthwateringly massive arms. He reclined in midair, floating anchored to Billy by the legs he wrapped around Billy’s waist. The stupor broke when Clark tried to tease his hole on Billy’s cock. Does he want me to do it? Billy thought. That can’t happen, he only did all this to try to preserve that kind image of a strong Superman in his mind. He can’t possibly do this. 

Superman turned his head to look forlornly at the bare asses of the men dicking Nightwing.

The thrust may not have been harsh, but it was persistent and unyielding. The gasp that Superman let out was music to his ears. That will teach him who he should focus on, Billy thought. Setting a pace after bottoming out: a quick draw back and a deep plunge, faster than the human eye, to anyone else the pace was punishing, to the slut had laid back, it was exemplary. He could pound the pussy in ways that Clark has probably been dreaming about for years. He has the power of Zeus; he knows all the ways he fucked around Greece. Billy was thick as a horse, almost as long as a forearm. He could pound with the force to bring down a mountain. They’re airborne when he really gets going. Thrusting with a fury that made Superman scream in pleasure. His balls were slapping that perfect ass all overhead, weaving through the chandeliers, people beneath looked up and saw the show. He curled around Clark and bit right down on those nipples that he was so fond of playing with, Clark came on their chests right then and there. Billy was rearranging the guts of the most powerful man on the planet, he was a god with the powers of seven of them, he could bring down lust incarnate and make it his bitch. God, he had to thank Batman for making this all possible, he was a new man. Where could he possibly be?

Bruce first realized the shenanigans when he got out the elevator, and the skyline was pitch black; he knows he shouldn’t have taken the tunnels. The janitor told him his sons filled in for him, in the boardroom, and at Pharmaceutical R&D. The Ferrari was speeding down the streets the moment he read the report for the custom lead plated ampoule. Only to be stopped at the Garden State Parkway. Sure, it was the fastest way out of Gotham, except the weekends. He may be ten miles away, but traffic has been at a standstill for two hours. With the snail’s pace before, he’s been gone for four hours. How much trouble could the boys have gotten in that time? Oh, dear… Wait, they updated the sprinklers. It could be worse. He doubts they’d send the Batmobile if they aren’t responding to calls. So, he was stuck in traffic until…

He got out of the car with the flare. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? He fired; No, It’s Steel. He landed with an impact on the asphalt.

“Sir, I do not detect an emergency. I’m going to need you to return to your vehicle—”

“Get me to Wayne manor, now. I need to punish my sons. You guys can still have the party but without them,”

That is how Bruce was bridal carried to his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce won't be sexually involved in this story, but he will be a sort of epilogue narrator. Remember to comment on what alternates you want to see. They may take a week but I'll try to get them out. Just no non-sex fluids or anything like that. 
> 
> Lowkey any critique helps. I reiterate, first time writing sex scenes.
> 
> If anyone needs me, I will be writing the next 6000 words of smut.


	5. Lesser Denizens of the Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giant titans of men are great to watch in an orgy, but a bit of a pain to follow up. Barry and Kyle seem to have solutions, however, and others are eager to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not finished, but I wanted to put something out. I'm starting another prompt so the conclusion will come by Friday, at the very latest. If you read chapter 4 before July 9th, I would reread it, I fixed a lot of mistakes I made at 4 am. I hope you enjoy this penultimate chapter before Bruce gets home.

“I think you lucked out over there, Ollie.”

“Whatcha mean, Roy?” Oliver only slowed down a little from thrusting into Jason’s mouth.

“Well, I don’t mean to be rude, but that alien dude totally wreaked Jason’s ass,” Roy bemoaned. 

Red Arrow glared over at said leathered musclebound alien. He had the gall to just recline and stroke his ridiculously large phallus, after ruining one of the boys. Look at him, puffing circles and watching Billy deep dick Superman on the ceiling and grinning like a loon, muttering about how he was waiting for something.

Oliver was only half-listening, however. He would pay more attention, but this mouth was just amazing. The guy had been pliant when Roy and Oliver got their turn, sort of out of it, really. He was a good dad to his ward, making sure his boy got the first crack at that muscled rear. He was nearly jealous when he offered up that sopping wet cunt for his old ward. It was a lovely sight when that pale bastard pulled out, like a cork popping out a barrel, the cum poured out in a deluge. His mouth watered at the delicious sight. Oliver felt too charitable when he nudged Roy out there to get the first taste of something so sweet, and the boy just stomped on the white gold on the ground and plopped himself in that treasured channel. 

Kids these days never appreciate anything. If Oliver had been there, he would have really gotten in there, just as soon that cock took off, drinking up as much as he could get down his gullet. Then he’d get really acquainted with that beautiful ass. Lapping up as much as he can, seeing how far his tongue could go between those cheeks. Ah, that’s the good stuff. Sure, sometimes, if you’re too eager, that cock is liable to go poking for attention, and you’re gonna have to help a guy clean-off, but when he gives a gift like this, a cock down your throat is just being the least bit grateful.

Jason, though, he was a prize from both ends. At first, the boy could barely keep his teeth to himself, but after thrusting a good ten minutes, that little fucker started darting his tongue all over his cock. Delving right around the head and curling down the shaft. Oliver could barely keep his hips steady diving back in as fast as he could chasing that tightness he could only get when he got real deep in there. His thrusting was downright sloppy, but when every time he pulled back, Jason would suck and slurp in a way that left his legs shaking in a way he hasn’t since high school. This kid did things to him, making him shake all the way down to the pants pooled around his shivering ankles.

Roy, the less fortunate, spent half his time shoving down a loose and gapping channel. He spent the other half glaring at the offending alien for his troubles when Lobo glanced away from ogling the airshow and met his glare, still jacking off.

“You got something you want to say, punk?” Lobo called out.

“Yeah, maybe I do!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Kyle, naked, stepped between them. “Let’s not fight. Okay? Okay? Okay. Let’s all just enjoy this once in a lifetime opportunity before the Robins need pop up and crack a few skulls and ruin the party for everyone.”  
“Yeah, yeah,” Roy conceded, breaking eye contact with the alien. Lobo only looked away when Billy started making a racket on the chandelier with Clark holding on for dear life.

“Thanks for being the bigger man, Roy,” Kyle put his arm around his shoulders. “Now, what seems to be the problem.”

“Apparently, not being the ‘bigger’ man,” Roy thrusted sadly. “The bastard totally wreaked him for the rest of us.”

Kyle thought for a moment, shook the frame of the swing. Sturdy. Well, this was about to get a lot more creative, he thought. Hoisting himself up and squatted at the edge of the cradle.

“Hey, dude. What are you doing?” Roy asked. “I thought you were hanging out with the other Lanterns.”

Kyle looked over at the other Green Lanterns. They were standing around Damian on his hands and knees, cheering on John as he put his big black marine ass to use and pounded his thick cock into Bruce’s little boy.

“They’ll be fine.”

The Green Lantern settled himself over Jason’s ass, pointing his dick down to the loose entrance.

“Helping a friend get a little friction,” Kyle said, plunging in.

The ring may have given way quickly, but the slick heat was tight where it squeezed him and Roy together. The friction from the dicks rubbing together definitely made up for the lackluster pressure Roy got before. Not only that, but the additional dick pushed him against the walls of Jason’s gaping cunt. Previously, he was thrusting for half an hour and had nothing to show for it but blue balls. Now, he was back in business. Kyle couldn’t do much but be a glorified dildo perched up right there, so Roy was gonna need to put in the work. His hips took off with renewed vigor. Ramming down beaten roads, he was able to glide right over Jason’s little hard nub parked right under the head of his cock or rub his cock under Kyle’s glands. 

Grunting in pleasure, Kyle enjoyed the ride. Roy was giving all he could while Kyle could relax. Passing a hand over Jason’s abs, he frowned. Looking at the frame, Kyle got an idea. With his constructs, he fixed Jason’s dangling limbs in the unused restraints swaying from the rods. Jason’s been through a pretty rough day; he only tensed a little when he got bound. 

Maybe a spa treatment is in order, Kyle thought. He formed a barber straight razor construct, hair wasn’t his particular fetish, and Jason could do without so… much. When Kyle passed his hands over smooth skin stretched over hard muscle, he could certainly appreciate the figure more. Oliver just gave a sour look when the pecs he was groping turned up bare.

“Sorry Old Man, not really my style,” Kyle smirked, looking down. “Maybe we’ll get a nice treat for you.”

All those ministrations brought Jason to his edge, his stuffed throat moaned in ecstasy, and his packed ass shimmied, filled with meat. He couldn’t stop himself. Jason came with a fury in his jock again. He thought he was pumped dry, but a worrying feeling in his gut told him the night was only half over.

When the white gold pearled up along the pouch of the jock, Oliver dove for it. He jumped up on the swing, his knees straddling Jason’s shoulders, hips thrusting like a champ. Jason may take offense to his balls slapping his face but had to get to his prize. Laying on top, Oliver was face first with a ridiculously large bulge. Even flaccid, the mesh stretched around the tuckered-out member. That’s not what he was there for though, he followed the musky scent to the leaky head and the wet cloth. Jackpot. Oliver brought his lips done to the milky patch and licked a broad stretch across the pouch. Going back to the head of the cock, he pulled up as much as he could into his mouth until he coated his tongue in the bitter taste. The more he nursed, the more the overstimulated moans traveled up his shaft and told his crotch to pump more and more into the receiving gullet. Oliver sucked through the jock up and down the length until his friend’s pretty robin singing took him over the edge. He pulled out and hopped down as quickly as he could. 

“Don’t spit or swallow, Ok?” Oliver gripped Jason’s face. With wide-eyes, Jason nodded his head upside down. 

“Alright, now, open your mouth,” Oliver ordered, and just like that, his mouth popped open those puffy lips. He couldn’t figure out why Bruce always complained about Jason’s disobedience, but here, he was listening to every word with perfect attention. Just like before, when Ollie found white gold, Ollie dove right in. Even though he only saw it on the palette, he brought his full lips to bear, tonguing inside that perfect mouth, passing over every inch, and sucking on the little red tongue. By the time he was finished lapping up the prize, the boy was game for tonsil hockey and shoved his own tongue into Oliver’s mouth. God, he loves this place.

Barry lived a hectic life, with his work at the crime lab, his duty to Central City, and his commitments to the league, his superspeed could barely cover his bases. When he could afford to take his time, he really wanted to enjoy it. Not totally into this whole thing from the start, Barry started off simple when his turn came around. Nothing wrong with missionary, especially when he has such a beautiful view. He has that third Robin Bart talked about pinned under him. Tim, was it? Well, he wasn't saying much now, panting and moaning, wide-eyed with pleasure. 

Impatient waiting for his turn, once he got his shot, he took his time sliding in balls deep and dragging his long cock out unhurriedly until only the head remained, before starting all over again. He may not have the superstrength to swing them all about or thick enough to ruin them for others. However, slow and steady, he made them cry out for him. Timmy here has been going for nearly twenty minutes with nothing to deal that pesky hardon in his pouch. If he had sense enough to beg for release, then Barry wasn't doing a good enough.

"Goddammit!"

"Face it, Wally. Your reputation proceeds you."

"Oh, 'fastest man alive,' hur hur hur. Haven't heard that one before," Wally said, pulling out. He took himself in hand and, with his superspeed, brought himself to mast again. They were getting nowhere. He and Garth were trying to get another load out of Dick, but after Superman, Shazam, Atom Smasher, and Carter Hall, Grayson seemed a bit drained, not to mention loose. Unfortunately, Wally wasn't blessed with Atlantean stamina. Garth apparently also had weirdly rough skin, while he said it let him slice through the water hydrodynamically, rubbing against it in the sloppy heat between Dick's legs nearly sent him to heaven. So, with his second ejaculation and Dick barely holding up a semi while taking both of them, it seems futile to try to get Dick off. 

"Guess I'll just have to make up for it," Garth smirked.  
"Hold on. I'm hard again!" Wally retorted.

"For now."

"Fuck you."

"Can't you use your super speed like you just did," Garth suggested.

"I can't vibrate my dick like my hand," Wally lectured. "The muscles around there just stretch."

"Then just use your—"

"I think I can be of assistance," Barry interjected, speeding up in his thrusting.

"What do you mean, Uncle Barry?"

"Well, you just…" Barry continued whispering into Wally's ear.

"Yeah…yeah…yeah, but how do you—"

"I'll show you! HAL!" Barry called. Hal pulled himself away from watching Simon Baz hoist Damian up and down his lap and jogged over.

"Hey, Care-bear, what's seems to be the problem," Hal asked, standing naked with his fists on his hips. His wet cock dipped right in front of Barry's face. However, Barry reacted nonplused to the long piece of meat in front of him. 

"Ah, nothing. Just wanted to show Wally how to do the thing," Barry said, not slowing down from his thrusting.

"The thing, Barry? It's my turn in just a sec," Hal complained, his cock dangled around.

"Really? But you love the thing!"

"Yeah, I do…" Hal mumbled forlornly at the other Lanterns. Damian stopped bouncing around, now Simon simply held him at the waist while he pistoned from below.

"Alright, hey, you there, do you want to cum finally?" Barry questioned, finally stopping his relentless thrusting. When Tim finally regained his senses, he nodded emphatically. "Okay, let's get you up."  
Barry settled his member in deep and embraced Tim his arms, picking him up and turning to Hal. With practiced ease, Hal teased the edge of the hole as it stretched around Barry's length. Gentle prodding followed by persistent pressing, forcing the member passed the tight ring. Tim cried out when he was breeched further and moaned when Hal sank entirely into him. When he finally seated himself into Tim, Hal hooked his elbows under Tim's knees, and his hands secured his head. Still seated in Tim, Barry pulled back and dusted his hands.

"So, after you're situated and maybe done some Kegel stretches—"  
"Uncle Barry, come on. I get it. I just need to see it."

"Alright, alright. Starting in three, two, one."

Immediately, Hal's sturdy legs quaked under the vibrations. His shaft shuddered inside, frotting against Barry's buzzing member. Unperturbed, Barry looked at how Hal shivered and trembled. At the edge of tears, his face contorted in a silent scream of ecstasy as he buckled over. Unlike Hal, there was nothing quiet about Tim's experience. 

The boy shivered to buzz deep inside. Around the fullness, in his belly, the quaking weight of the lengths inside shook his world to the core. He cried out, tears streaming down his face as every nerve in his rim, and up his channel lit up like a Christmas tree. Tim Couldn't even identify which Flash was fucking him if he didn't know before. He was breathing in his face, but the stars in his eyes blinded him so. Tim sobbed to the torment, even as he came in his jock.

Hal struggled, quivered and shook, so it wouldn’t end too early. Every time he and Barry tried to do the ‘thing,’ it always ended with Barry rocking his world, leaving a catatonic bottom collapsed on top of Hal, who wasn’t faring much better. Each time, he did a little better, but it was like cutting time off a hundred-meter dash, improvement came in increments of seconds. The boy, however, had no acclimation to the punishing pleasure. With his sobs and clenching hole, he was just as confused as Hal when he first experienced the ‘thing,’ wracked in the blinding sensation. He kissed the teen’s neck comfortingly. Barry wasn’t letting up until Hal gave in, so Tim was along for the ride in the meanwhile. Gently, Hal trusted minutely into the teen. That calmed him down. Teetering at his edge for so long, he lost track of how long it went on. All things come to an end. However, he felt the burning of his release through his sore rod. Finally, Barry stopped. In the humming stillness, he felt the cum leak down, dripping off his and Barry’s sacks.

“And that is how you do the ‘thing’ and once you get more experience you can even do it by yourself,” Barry declared. Hal saw stars as he pulled out, he cleared the streaks on the kid’s face. “Hal, I think that’s the longest you’ve lasted so far.”

“Oh, really?”

“Wow, and that works on anyone?” Wally questioned, spying towards Garth.

“Anyone,” Barry confirmed certainly. Twisting Tim around to face forward.

There was a low, gravely, laugh, derisive and unkind, that rumbled nearby.

“If you think that would accomplish makin’ a real man do anythin’, then you’re sorely mistaken,” Lobo comment, amused. “and Lantern, I appreciate that you invited me out here and all, but you must be piss poor lay in bed if that cheap trick’s got you all tickled.”

“That’s pretty confident for a guy who doesn’t have Robin on his cock. Let’s see how sure you are when you do the ‘thing’ with this beaut. ”

“Sorry, not interested,” Lobo smirked. “Czarnians spend a bit of time revin’ up before they make their big show. Gotta be careful where ya blow yer load, but as you can see o’er at those bozos pairin’ up to salvage what’s left behind, it’s a show to ‘member.”

“If you’re not interested in any more of the Robins, what are you even still doing here?”

“Why don’t cha take a look right in front of ya and see for yourselves!”

Shazam kneeled on stage, hooded in his billowing white cape, stripped of most of his red suit, his god-like physique on full display, powerful and marvelous. Despite his innate modesty, Billy was entirely unbothered with having every inch of his muscles on parade: bulging biceps, thundering thighs, and powerful pectorals. Everything pulsing and flexing with every thrust he delivered to Superman sprawled out in front of him. Stoic at the beginning of the night, Clark cried out in wild abandon now. Grunting at the punishment, moaning when filled, and whimpering when Billy passed his massive cock over Clark’s prostate. They drew a crowd, anyone not occupied with someone was captivated by Billy pounding Superman’s face into the stage.

“Now that is a bitch to put on a show for,” Lobo grinned, his cock at full mast, towering, thick and terrible. Barry saw the length stretched as long as his forearm. “Every time I come ‘round here, I deal with his bitchin’ and whinin’ when I’m just trying to please my clients' wishes. I deserve to have a taste of that cooch for not killin' him by now. It’s more a gift really, I’ll give it harder than he could’ve ever imagined and I'll post it real deep. He’ll never forget me.”

“That’s a pretty ambitious goal, guess that’s why you won’t go for this. You wouldn’t be able to get it up after this,” Barry claimed.

“What did I say? I’m waitin’ for—"

“If you can handle the time Hal managed, I’ll pull out and make sure that you get first dibs on Clark. If you’re so sure that this won’t get you to come, you have nothing to worry about. Unless you’re not as much as a man as you say you are,” Barry finished.

That got Lobo mad. He pushed up off the mattress and stalked towards Barry. Lumbering with an aggressive stride, face bent in an insulted grimace. A hulking mountain of a man, his swollen muscles bulged as he trudged, the open black leather vest and taut pants framed the pale skin stretching across his immense brawn. His massive cock bobbing about in front nearly as aggressively virile as he was. In front of Barry, he stood a head taller, maybe more. The scowl didn’t lighten when he spoke.  
“So, I just stick it all in and wait for you to fuck about?” Lobo inquired, bringing his flesh to bear, probing under Barry’s sack from nearly a foot away.

“Just go slow putting it in, he’s still pretty tight for two,” Barry said. Tim’s face curled in terror when he felt the bulbous head touched his hole.

“Huh, forgot to ask him ‘bout this, didn’t ya?” Lobo blew smoke into Tim’s face, and the boy broke out in coughing. Lobo stuffed his fingers in Tim’s mouth before he could close his mouth. The massive arm wrapped around his head, ripping control from the Flash. “Sh-sh-sh, okay? I may not have gotten ya in this mess, but I certainly got my pride ridin’ on it. Can’t be havin’ ya say all those silly words like ‘no’ and ‘stop’ on me.”

“I may be savin’ myself for big blue, but I’m still gonna be sure to give ya some lovin’,” Lobo took another drag from his stogie, curling another bicep larger than Tim’s head in something akin to flirtation. Tim’s eyes trailed every inch of the stretched pale skin, Lobo grinned cruelly. 

“No one ever forgets a guy like me. My time starts now.”

Lobo attacked his mouth with a meaty tongue as he entered Tim. His scream swallowed when Lobo’s mouth covered his whole. The unyielding length pressed against whatever resistance remained in his hole, and the ring gave way in surrender as if it never put up a fight. The alien fed the massive pale cock into Tim slowly, with the acrid smoke Lobo breathed into him. The sharp taste of the gaseous ash covered the inside of his cheeks and filled his lungs. Lobo’s tongue licked every inch of his gums, taste buds, and palate, then deeper and deeper into his throat, as the meaty cylinder speared further and further into his hole. Lobo’s abs and leather rubbed against his skin, surrounding Tim from all directions. The cock mowed over Tim’s inner button when Lobo’s face pulled away, but he couldn’t bring himself to scream, his body simply submitted to the sensations. Lobo smirked as he passed Barry’s cock inside of Tim. Despite the searing impression deep inside, a weight set against places never touched before today. The most prominent thing he felt was the unadulterated pleasure he received from the friction and stretching. Time, like all higher thought, eluded him, hours could’ve past, and he would be none the wiser. When Lobo finally bottomed out, he didn’t know where he was or where that cock ended up in his body. His best guess was past the pancreas but before the thyroid. 

The enormous pale phallus dwarfed not only the boy’s channel but Barry’s cock as well. When the giant balls settled, they nearly engulfed Barry’s in their sheer scope. Lobo curled both of his arms in a powerful pose.

“So, that’s three minutes, not sure if your little pecker is magic enough to— Argh!"

The trembling at the base of Lobo’s cock hit fast and ferociously. Vengeful and terrible, the violent vibrations shaking his sex with a dramatic fury. Even with the quivering being at his base, the output from the Speedster’s pulsating member traveled along his own length, filling the entire channel with the buzzing. Tim, poor, poor Tim, cried out again the bulge that protruded from his abs quaked ferociously. Lobo set a determined gaze at a smirking Barry after he nearly stumbled. Lobo set himself as still as the alien could manage and attempted to let the sensations wash over him. No matter how long he felt he held out, they continued to pummel him like tidal waves battering a palm tree.

He heard a shout from behind and whipped his head around to see. Lobo manages to catch Superman paint the stage in splooge, back arched gloriously as Shazam held on to him by his shoulders. Given the vice grip of what Lobo imagined was the best puss on the planet, it’s a no-brainer to see the kid manage only a few more thrusts before giving in and spending himself in the man of steel. He persisted with a few more token shoves before falling back, exhausted, and the drooping trunk of a cock pulled out. Superman only took a moment to collect himself before getting to his feet. He looked out over the crowd, peering in the hungry men’s eyes, and bent over, offering himself to anyone. Immediately, the audience clamored and struggled over the edge, yanking each other, trying to get themselves to Superman first.

“Superman!” Lobo cried out, shaking and trembling. Immediately, the Kryptonian looked away from the crowd and to the tall, muscled Czarnian. Once he had his attention, Lobo tried to flex and flaunt his massive back and his defined arms despite fighting from shooting off. Aloof to the line of suitors behind him, Clark stood straight and marched straight toward Lobo. Even with an insulted queue of willing and able men, Clark locked on to the Czarnian’s stalwart form, he floated off stage as if there were steps to tread, on the ground, he stalked indifferently through the crowd that parted for him. 

“Gotta get this—Argh!” Lobo wretched himself from Tim’s gaping and abused hole, foolishly passing the head of his cock over Barry’s vibrating length. The sensation left his raw and tingling, but he was in the safe. He hasn’t come yet; he could still make it! Lobo turned around where Superman stood right behind him, waiting for him, his wet cock dragging across the Kryptonian’s thigh. Clark peered down to the massive pale length that protruded out from Lobo’s hips and dangled between Clark’s hips. Before he could say anything, he fell back as a three-hundred-pound Kryptonian shoved him onto a mattress. 

Sprawled out, with the strongest man on the planet straddling his crotch, Lobo grinned in victory. His cock stood tall and proud, leaking with eagerness. With a firm grip, Superman settled the leaky member into the cleft of his big round ass. He looked down at the lecherous face of the biker beneath, with the full expectation that this man would fill his emptiness. Superman dragged his wet, sloppy hole up the shaft. The sheer size excited him, and the girth assured him that he would find pleasure here. Clark climbed until the monstrous head was the gate, stretched and ready for the length to sink home. The muscled ring teased and quivered when prodded. 

This was it, Lobo waited satisfied and fulfilled for him finally to get one on spineless, life-loving, Kryptonian as Superman poised right above his dick. Bring it up every time the bitch tried to get in his way, how he howled and hollered with just a thrust from the main man. Getting kisses on his dick as the hole squeezed and quivered on top. The fluids from the boy scout’s last fucker dripped down the shaft, when his cock finally breached, it was a paradise like no other, a grand god-like force encircled him squeezing him and the nerves at every layer of his dick when Superman lowered just enough. God, just putting his head in nearly made him cum. Wait, it did make him come! NO! 

It was no use. Lobo grunted at his climax. As Clark tried to lower himself on top of the cock it deflated like a punctured bounce house. Curious, Clark withdrew the leaking cockhead just as it shot across his back, more essence poured out his hole as Lobo painted his ass with the rest of his early emission. Disappointed, he dropped the weeping cock, stood, and turned to leave.

“Wait, no! Come back!” Lobo shouted after Superman, propped on his arms.

“Doubt worry Lobo, he’s off to tell everyone about your show!” Barry assured. He called after Lobo who chased after Superman. “Did you explain to him how you’re a real man?”

Barry rubbed Tim’s back. The kid’s been through enough tonight. Well, until someone walked up after Barry left.

“Did you have to antagonize him?” Hal muttered.

“Pot? It’s kettle. You’re black.”

Hal waved his hands. “It’s just, this is technically his payment, he’s gonna be pissed and take it out on the city if he doesn’t get his fill.”

“Your right, but I didn’t like him coming after you like an ass,” Barry said. “In other news, he came before your time.”

“Oh, shit. Really?”

“By nearly two full minutes, and that’s the time when he embarrassed himself in front of Clark,” Barry confirmed.

“Might’ve been cool to see them go at it,” Hal remarked.  
“Yeah, but you could watch Clark with anybody tonight.” 

“Unlikely,” Hal replied, watching Superman spectate Simon Baz coming in Damian.

“Yeah, maybe next crisis is more like it,” Barry considered.

“I’m gonna try to smooth some feathers and take a look at the action over there,” Hal said, as John Steward lined up behind Damian and plunged in.

“Gonna leave me all alone then with nothing to occupy my time?”

“Don’tcha have those boys going at it?”

“What—”

Sure enough, the boys had taken their lesson to heart and powered through earnestly. A quick study, Wally managed to copy his uncle’s technique to a tee. Laying on the mattress, he buzzed away at Grayson’s prostate, who showed his gratitude most intently. Up for action now that there was something vibrating in his ass, Dick rubbed his revitalized erection against the speedster’s abs and his lip trying to give as much as he was getting. With a tongue down each other’s throat, they seemed deaf to the world, lip-locked and eating each other’s mouths with wanton abandon. Garth seemed to be going for his own pleasure. No longer the composed lover, he grunted with bared teeth ramming himself fast and deep in to Dick. Only rolling his hips when he came pumping in Grayson as more leaked out the split rim. When he finished he resumed thrusting at an ungodly pace.

“I’ll take your shocked silence as you wanting to creep out on the boys. See ya later, I’ve gotta go single handedly save Gotham from hurt machismo.”

“Mm-hm, that’s nice Hal.” Hal patted his friends back. Assured that he could get Lobo back under control.

Lobo was much less sure.

“I’ll kill him, I’ll kill ‘em all in this town,” Lobo promised. “Blondie fucked with the main man’s chances with Supey, when he’s being this horny bitch. Now, I expect to be paid because this shitty excuse for a party doesn’t cover any of the main man’s fees. Else I’m gonna start knockin’ cities down instead of keepin’ them up.”

“Yeah, but you can’t leave the party yet because… You haven’t seen the finale!” Hal nodded. Lobo continued to look unimpressed.

“I heard Batman talk about it it’s gonna be huge. Who knows maybe you’ll get another shot with Kal in the meantime?” Hal assured.

“It better be big…” Lobo muttered deadly. Hal sighed in relief.

Are you there J’onn, Hal thought, It’s me, Hal.

Yes, Jordan?

Fuck yes!

No, Jordan.

What? Come on J’onny-boy! It’s for the greater good, if Lobo doesn’t get something big and amazing or we’re all in deep shit. And you’re the only guy that can make that happen on short notice. We just need something extremely kinky, but legal, but also recognizable across the cosmos.

What a concise request.

Is that a no?

It is not a response, but I will agree to it, only so much as it will preserve Bruce’s belongings from your mistakes.

I would correct you that they were Barry’s mistakes, but I’m too relieved that you said yes. So, this whole shebang ends with a big bang. Huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, warts and all. Don't worry that Hal hasn't jumped on the Jason pile, it's coming.  
>  It's 5am I will now sleep.


End file.
